"I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, think it possible you may be mistaken"

Yesterday, neither I nor J felt like cooking. And, you know, when even *I* look in the fridge, freezer and cupboard and my only response is “meh”, you know that’s some seriously uninspiring food!

So we decided to go out. And it had been raining, which meant wet pavements, which meant wet jeans, which meant a potentially uncomfortable dining experience. Being sneaky, I thought “ooh! I could wear a skirt!”

Do you want to know my thought patterns as I got changed out of my manky I’m-revising-so-don’t-care-if-I-look-grim clothes? I bet you do:

Oooh! I could wear a skirt! That way my ankles will stay dry. Hmm, better wear tights though. Maybe I don’t want to look like a peasant girl in my swooshy skirt. Ok, I’ll wear that smart skirt I haven’t had an excuse to wear yet. Oh, but it’s got a red lining. I’ve only got two red tops. One of them’ll go, surely. No, this one’s too casual. And the other one emphasises the breastsplosion I’ve got going on. Crap. Well, maybe a black top would do? I can’t wear a shirt, I’ll look like I’m auditioning for a part in a porn film. Anyway, J’s wearing jeans. I’ll look stupid if I wear something too smart. But all the rest of my black tops just don’t go. They’re faded, or make me look slightly pregnant, or just *boring*. Ok. How about turquoise. Yeah. That’ll do. Right. Shoes. Well, my high-heeled knee-high pirate boots clearly don’t work. Also, see the porn comment. Ok, then, the little ones with the strap. Fuck, I look like a seven-year-old dressing up.

Sod it, I’m wearing jeans. The faded black one’s’ll do. They’re clean. And that red top I said was too casual. That looks nice. And that red necklace I’ve got. And my normal, black shoes. Ok, they’re the same ones my mother wears, but who’s going to care? Anyway, I can walk in them.

This thought process I present to you almost without comment. Except to say: some women must do this all the time. How exhausting. How time-consuming. And how upsetting. Fuck that.

It’s not even 11 o’clock yet. And my exam isn’t until 1:30 this afternoon. How am I meant to occupy my time sensibly when I can’t tear myself away from the exam timetable?

(I get a little panicky about afternoon exams. Why? Because when I was doing my A-Levels, I thought I had a History exam in the afternoon. Long story short, it was actually a morning exam, I slept through it, had to get a taxi to my school and stayed in a classroom on my own for many hours, not allowed to talk to anybody, until they could find someone to invigilate me doing the exam on my own. Good times. There’s always one person who doesn’t turn up for their exam. It’s some kind of Sod’s Law rule. But you never think it’ll be you.)

Well, I say art. I mean an advert for a song I heard on Spotify. So, remember how there was that thing about sexting a while ago? Well, it must all be ok now, if we’re meant to be judging by this song. Lyrics under the cut, because they annoyed the fuck out of me, and sometimes people want to be warned before they see something deeply annoying.

I could do some actual feminist commentary on this, but basically, my thoughts boil down to this:

I DO NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR ERECTION! AND I AM DISINCLINED TO ACQUIESCE TO YOUR REQUEST!